The sniper walked towards the Flesh-eater who sat in a pool of blood, bleeding out.

He extended his arm towards the heavy axe beside him, failing to reach it and arm himself.

The sniper pulled his heavy makeshift rebar axe out of the bloody sand and held it over his head for a brief moment, struggling to keep it still.

"Mirra m'a tué" she whispered to the dying Flesh-eater in an unknown dialect, "Mirra's mistake was letting me live."

The sniper grasped the axe firmly in her two hands and began violently bashing in the Flesh-eater's skull with his own solid weapon.

She mashed his head into messy bits and pieces.

The sniper laid beside the bloody mess for a few moments, catching her breath.

She had waited many weeks for this hunt to pay off.

The decoy on the hill, the travelers as her bait, her plan to lure out the Red of Mirra worked.

A grin reached from ear to ear, as she sat down exhausted.

She finally felt some satisfaction.

The wounded wayfarer and his young company approached the exhausted sniper.

"You're... the Wolf of the Wasteland, aren't you?" questioned Farron, the boy, who felt as if he was meeting a legend.

The sniper turned her head away from the boy and spoke in gruff low voice.

"Yeah," replied the sniper clearing her throat, "That's what they call me."

"Thank you for saving us!" shouted Adaline. "You're really kind!"

The sniper looked over at them and then turned her head in the opposite direction.

"Leave your bottles of water on the floor. It's the cost for what I've done," spoke the cold-hearted sniper, "The ammunition and food as well." 

"You're robbing us?" questioned the surprised little boy.

The boy held his finger over the trigger of the revolver and angled it up towards the sniper.

"I'll need something to trade for ammunition. I shot four rounds, and it saved four lives. Ammunition for ammunition. It's a fair trade. These kind of rounds ain't cheap."

"This is all we have. Half a magazine for the old rifle, a dozen bottles of water, and several containers of grilled bird." spoke Simon as he took a standard issue rifle from the Old War from his daughter's pack and emptied the contents of the tattered backpack on the floor, revealing ten portions of food, clothing, tools, containers of water and small trinkets.

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"The mag and the rifle- pass that to me," muttered the Wolf as she stared down at their rations, "Water, meat... Some of that as well."

"No, we can't afford to spare anything else..."

Wolf gestured with her hand to hand the loot over, "you'll have plenty left," she replied.

"We won't have anything to protect ourselves," replied the man as he ejected the magazine from the rifle.

He quickly checked how many bullets remained in the magazine before handing both over to her.

"You can't leave us like this," shouted one of Simon's daughters.

"Chercher la petite bête," she huffed, speaking unknown words, "you all complain, but still you live."

The Wolf pointed down at the rations on the floor, and gestured to the young boy to approach her.

Farron picked up a portion of grilled bird in one of the plastic containers and handed it over to her along with three containers of clean water.

"Fresh water...," she whispered in a soft voice, breaking character.

The sniper spoke in a gruff voice once more, "Where did this water come from?"

"A stream not far from here, just past the setting sun," replied Farron.

Simon looked over at the boy and shook his head.

The Wolf wrapped up the looted rifle, the rations, and her sniper rifle in her hefty desert cloak and swung the wrapped contents over her shoulder.

"It's been fun," she added, walking away from the group towards the tread marks leading across the ocean of sand.

"Will we ever see you again?" the young boy shouted, before the older man grabbed a hold of him and covered the boys mouth from saying anything further.

"Not if you still shoot like that," she replied, as she turned to look at the young boy.

The boy looked down at the revolver that he still gripped tightly in his hands, and looked back up.

The Wolf had vanished off into the distance, heading over to the sandy knoll where she left her decoy.